


breakfast for dinner

by glim



Series: happy steve bingo fills [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-23 02:16:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20884508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: Sam thinks, maybe, he likes himself best, this way, too: home early from work, thinking about cooking dinner, the tension in his shoulders gone, and that blooming warmth taking up all the room in his chest.





	breakfast for dinner

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Happy Steve Bingo 2019 and for the prompt 'bad in the kitchen.'

Sam finds Steve standing in front of the toaster, looking at it thoughtfully. He's about to say something like _even you can't mess up toast_ or _try not to burn breakfast-for-dinner okay?_ They haven't had too many kitchen disasters lately, but Sam can't help but tease Steve a little for all the bunt slices of toast when he gets distracted while he tries to cook. 

But the words somehow catch in Sam's chest and a small smile curves his lips. He's not sure what happens in that moment, but he finds himself looking at the way Steve's hair comes to a soft point right at the nape of his neck, dark blond hair against his skin, and at the way the rest of his hair is all rumpled-up. He's in navy sweatpants and a white tee shirt, both just this side of too worn to wear outside the house, and he rubs one foot against the back of the other calf as he watches the toaster. 

Warmth expands in Sam's chest and catches him off guard; they've been living together for a few months now and this is normal, this is his life now. Steve, standing in the kitchen, his hair messy, his eyes soft, his hand brushing against Sam's arm as Sam walks into the kitchen. 

"D'you want to do omelets? Scrambled eggs? Hey," Steve says, leaning into the kiss Sam presses to his lips. "Hey, you..." 

"Yeah, hey you..." Sam's smiling again in that way that feels like he might never stop smiling as long as his body is this close to Steve's. He kisses him once more, then leans down to touch his lips to Steve's shoulder. "You feel like having omelets?" 

Steve shrugs; he's made toast and coffee for dinner, but Sam knows how he likes scrambled eggs and bacon or sausage, and how he likes eating dinner with the two of them curled up on the sofa together. Breakfast for dinner, maybe a movie, and Steve's head settled against Sam's shoulder as he dozes off halfway into the movie and only nestles himself closer when Sam tries to wake him up. 

"I'll do scrambled eggs," Sam says. He doesn't move away from Steve just yet, though, and reaches up to brush his thumb against that soft hair at the nape of Steve's neck. The touch reminds him of the way Steve kisses him good morning, his lips against Sam's neck or shoulder as they wake up. 

Sam thinks, maybe, this is how he likes Steve best: warm and relaxed, bare feet against the kitchen floor, his hair a mess and his blue eyes soft.

He thinks, maybe, he likes himself best, this way, too: home early from work, thinking about cooking dinner, the tension in his shoulders gone, and that blooming warmth taking up all the room in his chest.

Before he can say something too soft or too sappy, Sam gives Steve a nudge away from the kitchen counter and goes to collect eggs from the fridge.


End file.
